Upon A Silverwing
by SakerFalcon
Summary: A visit to Rivendell introduces Haldir to the Silverwing family. One daughter pursues him, but it is another of the daughters that catches his interest. HaldirOC
1. The Silverwing Family

A/N: Hey all, this is my first Haldir fic, so I'm sort of rusty here ;-). This story was inspired by my favourite set of books, the Gormenghast Trilogy. I hope this is enjoyable thus far. R&R GREATLY appreciated

  *Saker Falcon*

**Chapter 1: The Silverwing Family**

The Silverwing family of Rivendell were an odd lot indeed. A household of two Elves, and their children – a son and three daughters. No two Silverwings were the same. 

  The parents, Erabur and Bellawen, were respectable folk – completely loyal to Lord Elrond and his teaches, and faithful servants to Rivendell. Both had dark hair and fair skin, as was customary for many Rivendell Elves. Bellawen had bright blue eyes, that reminded many of the sky when the sun was strong and pure. But Erabur had odd eyes – the golden-brown of fallen leaves or lightly-done toast. Merely two of his children inherited his eyes.

  The children…you couldn't have found a more different lot. There was the eldest – the son, Eradon. Dark of hair, fair of face, with his father's eyes and lithe but strong build. He sought out the humour and fun in life, whilst taking his blacksmith skills seriously, along with his own archery and sword training. Rarely serious was he, but he could be astonishingly astute when the timing called for it. His mind was inventive, his resourcefulness valued, and his skills in sword-making did not go unnoticed. 

  Then there were the daughters. The first was Parweien. Her bright blue eyes matched her mother's, though her build was astonishingly more like her father's. This had encouraged her to wear hunting clothes, and take on the more challenging things in life than gowns – namely, she sought out to be a sentinel of Rivendell. She trained long and hard with her weapons, often seeking council from Eradon. She had few suitors, for her strong build seemed to deter many.

  The second daughter was Tálarieth. Truly her mother's daughter, she was fair of face, body and etiquette. Her eyes were the twinkling blue, here features soft and beautifully feminine. She wore gowns and behaved in the best way possible – though underneath this, she was spoiled, manipulative, and rude. She cunningly controlled many things from the shadows, whilst all believed her to still be the perfect she-Elf – which her parents believed strongly, and they foolishly continued to spoil her.

  The final daughter, however, was the one considered the spoiled daughter. Close to the build of Parweien, but not quite, she hid herself in baggy, shapeless gowns, which hugged her bosom but hid all else. Her hair was very dark, making her seem all the more pallid, and her face might have been fair, if it were not so expressive. She would stand at her window, watching the world outside, and thrust out her lower lip in a childish pout. Or she would narrow her eyes dangerously, with her jaw clenched and her eyebrows furrowing in pure displeasure. Or she might laugh – and it was this expression that revealed the beauty she held. Not astonishing beauty like Tálarieth, but an innocent, raw beauty which would appear only for a moment when she laughed, and would soon disappear as soon as it would arrive, replaced instead with a frown.

  Her imagination was sharp and poignant – her constant escape which protected her from the disapproval that was often sent her way. Few found her innocence and almost child-like grace appealing, and for this, she was not a social Elf. She could be intemperate, suspicious, loving, and angered all within a few minutes, often confusing those around her, and even sometimes confusing herself.

  But she was not stupid, and this was the mistake that many seemed to make. Nay, this daughter was not as stupid as many thought. In fact, she could find her way around many conundrums, and should her father have taken time to look at her, he might have discovered that she had inherited his sharp mind and cynicism. Had her mother looked at her, she might have seen that she had inherited her ability to make friends of birds, to speak with them and love them as dear confidents.

  But no. Only two seemed to care for her, and those were Eradon and the Lord Elrond.

  And such was the life of Raziel, the youngest daughter. A flag of black hair that fell to her waist would swirl around her when she danced to music only she could hear. Her lips, roughened from her nibbling on them, could pout, smile and twist in anger in the expressive ways. And her eyes – the golden, honeyed eyes of her father, could betray her many emotions in seconds. 

  Simple, many called her. They would see her clutch her skirts and danced joyfully, her wavy hair bouncing behind her, and they would pronounce her a child. She heard this, and though she did not always show it, it upset her greatly. The only ones to console her were her brothers and the Lord Elrond himself, who sought her company over tea and seedcake. He would often ask her to use her artistic talents to sketch him, and then he would feed what he considered a very healthy mind with his tales of adventure, which she drank like sweet wine as she watched him, her golden eyes wide with enthusiasm. 

  So was the Silverwing family – so contrasted within itself that many could not bear to think of it, for fear that their minds may collapse from exhaustion. This did not, however, prevent them from gossiping about the family, no matter how prestigious Bellawen and Erabur may be. And it was these rumours, full of praise, distaste and mocking, that greeted the procession from Lothlórien as it entered Rivendell to seek company with the Lord Elrond, bearing the Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn, who were so diligently accompanied and guarded by the March Warden of Lórien himself, Haldir. 


	2. The Invitation

 A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed, 'tis greatly appreciated J

****

**Chapter 2: The Invitation**

Haldir of Lórien was doing what he did best – guarding his Lord and Lady. Except that this time, he was not standing upon a flet in the trees, but merely guarding them and their horses, along with his brothers, Rúmil and Orophin, and other wardens who had been spared from their duties of guarding the Golden Wood. 

  The Lord Celeborn and the Lady Galadriel had come to visit Lord Elrond and their grandchildren, planning on celebrations for the birthday of Lady Arwen. It had been a tiring journey, especially because the March Warden had had to deal with his mischievous brothers' jokes and whisperings. 

  Haldir was a proud Elf – he stood proud and tall, with his head held high and his jaw firmly set. He was known to be haughty and arrogant, which he never protested against. He knew he was a fine Guardian, and his attributes only added to the overall intimidating effect that made him such a legendary figure.

  His silvery-blond hair was styled with two braids at each ear, holding the rest of his hair away from his face and allowing it to cascade down his back finely. His eyes were a cool, deep blue, which never betrayed any emotion unless he wished them to. 

  His loyalty and strength were his fame, and he worked to keep it that way. He was proud to serve his Lord and Lady.

  Entering Rivendell was a much welcome experience, for though he refused to show it, he felt ready to collapse from weariness. Haldir was so accustomed to hiding his weaknesses that he did it effortlessly and without thought. So he forced himself to calmly lead the procession into Rivendell, and soon, the buildings and gardens were before them, with the Elves moving about their daily business. As soon as they saw them, the Elves bowed their heads in respect, but Haldir still caught snippets of their conversation.

"…such a manly daughter, so rare…"

"…the fruit was very ripe, too…"

"…donated some of her weaving, she did! She really is quite good at it…"

"…good girl, is that Tálarieth. A good example for…"

"…just like her mother…"

"…the Evenstar's birthday rapidly approaches, and…"

"…how can they stand it? Such a strange child…"

"…Lord Elrond seems to enjoy her company…"

"…a simpleton…odd dress too…"

  Haldir frowned slightly. It would seemed that the she-Elves were prone to gossiping – and it did not seem to be very nice gossiping either. He did not particularly like rumours, and often attempted to avoid them. These nasty little words made him wrinkle his nose slightly in distaste.

"They speak carelessly," Rúmil observed.

"Who of, one must wonder," Orophin nodded.

"It matters not," Haldir said, scowling, and continued to lead the Lórien Elves towards the House of Elrond.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Raziel watched the Lórien Elves from her window in her bedroom, her eyes widened with interest, as she gnawed on her bottom lip. She knew why they were there – Lord Elrond himself had told her whilst she sat before him, sipping red wine (which he had offered to her in celebration of his daughter's birthday). She could not help but watch them with wonder, these beautiful, golden Elves, as they moved swiftly towards her Lord's dwelling, bearing the Lord and Lady of Lothlórien. 

"_Ron naa vanima_ they are beautiful," she murmured to herself, touching the windowpane as though caressing it might caress them. Their lights – their glows – were very attractive to her, and she was disturbed to feel drawn like a moth to a flame. A frown fell over her features, her lips forming a pouting, discontent look. She spun away from the window and flopped into her rocking chair in a most unladylike manner.

  Raziel bent forward and picked up the leather-bound book that Eradon had purchased for her as a gift. It was filled with odd lines of poetry which came to her at the strangest moments, or simple sketches and the odd comment to something which she would look back at later and forget why it was there. Inside, on the first page, was a note from Eradon, reading:

_To Raziel Silverwing,_

_For when your thoughts are too large to keep in your head_

_Your brother, Eradon.___

  She had always treasured the gift, and kept it with her always, in a bag she had sewn herself from material she had cunningly thieved from her mother's stash. That way, should an eagle bear her news that she would never wish to forget, she could record it either in words, poetry or pictures.

  She rummaged for a piece of charcoal, and began to draw loose pictures of what she had seen, all the while humming tunelessly. "I should very much like to see those Elves up close," she whispered to herself, and grinned widely. "Perhaps Lord Elrond would allow it!" 

  Raziel smiled dreamily, and closed her book with a thud, standing up with a flourish and looking about her room, looking for something to settle her new buzz of energy. She would often feel this – this vibrant energy that almost always went to waste, because there was so little for her to do, whilst cooped up in such a place. 

"Raziel!" 

  Eradon had entered the house. His strong, yet raspy voice reached her ears, and the smile slipped off her face into a frown. Eradon did not sound pleased.

  _I have done nothing wrong! She thought, panicked. __I have remained here, made no spectacles!_

  She suddenly felt very cold, and hugged herself. What if their father thought she had done something wrong? What would happen? How could she prove she had been in the house, when she had been all alone?

"Raziel!" Eradon's voice was louder now, and soon enough, her door swung open, and the fair face of her brother appeared, looking worried and flustered. "Why did you not answer my calls, _seler__' sister? You had me worried."_

"_Amin__ hiraetha, toror' I am sorry, brother," Raziel replied, turning away and looking out of the window once more. "You know I am here now. You have no need to stay."_

  She realised then, by the vibes she could pick up on, that she had accidentally hurt her brother's feelings. She turned to glance at him, and saw a frown on his face. "I am sorry, Eradon. I did not mean it like that. I merely felt that you would find it cumbersome to stay when you needn't, for you now know I have done nothing to dishonour the Silverwing name."

  He raised an eyebrow, regarding his sister seriously. "You believe I came here to check that you have done nothing but remain in here?" He looked around the room distastefully. "Nay, Raziel, I came here to see you of my own will, and to show you something I felt you would like to see."

  Her eyes lit up, a smile stretching across her lips. "What is it, Eradon?"

  Eradon smiled at her child-like innocence, and remembered how he had cradled her as a baby, loving her and playing with her. She had not really changed much – neither had the circumstances surrounding her. Their parents had never really cared for her – and she was almost always ignored due to Tálarieth. It was Eradon and, on the odd occasion, Parweien who had raised Raziel. 

  She had been deprived of a normal childhood, and Eradon knew that she was living it now – enjoying the bliss that naivety and ignorance could bring. Even at the price of others.

  He fought to hide the grimace that attempted to arise on his lips. None of the she-Elves he courted were willing to come near his house, or accept his sister. They thought her handicapped, disabled. Some even _feared_ the youngest Silverwing, thinking she was of some devilry that was beyond the purity of the Elves, and this made him angry. She was merely caught in a vicious cycle created by family and townsfolk who disliked her – she was what they had made her. 

  Eradon had long since learned to live with it – he loved Raziel and showed her as much. He did feel bitter at the disregard this earned him, but he would not change it. The discrimination was unfair, unnecessary, and idiotic. She was no danger – she was simply like a child, though he knew she had more under the surface. It angered him to see her forced to spend her days inside, shunned. _They are not curing her, they are making matters worse, _he thought darkly.

  He handed her a piece of parchment, and she took it with a smile, as she unrolled it and scanned what it side. Her eyes widened.

"Oh, Eradon! Is this true? Are we really invited? We shall see the Lothlórien Elves? I can go? Please say I can go!"

  Her words bombarded him, and he laughed as he tried to wade through them. "Slow down, sister-mine! You shall give me a headache if you are not careful, it has not been an easy day!" _Due to that awful she-Elf Winsome, he thought. "Aye, my dear, we are all invited. Look at the top of the invitation. It is addressed to us all." He silently thanked Lord Elrond for this – he realised that were Raziel's name not on the invitation, even if the invitation said 'you are all invited', Erabur and Bellawen would have seen it as a way to leave Raziel behind. But this was a direct invitation for the youngest Silverwing, and their parents could not deny it. "You shall be going," Eradon smiled._

  The invitation was to a feast, to welcome the Lothlórien Elves to Rivendell, to be held that night. All of Rivendell was invited, and Eradon saw it as a perfect opportunity for Raziel to see the Elves Lord Elrond had told her much about. 

"This is a dream come true!" Raziel cried, her smile so wide it was astonishing. "Does this mean I shall see the Elves of the Golden Wood, brother?"

"Aye," he nodded, and gasped when she flung herself into his arms, sobbing onto his shoulder. "Raziel? What is the matter?"

"No matter, Eradon," she sniffled, burying her head into his shoulder. "I am merely delighted at this opportunity! I must thank Lord Elrond for this, for he is too kind."

"Which brings me to my next message," Eradon said. "Lord Elrond wishes to have your company in an hour – he requests that you bring your various implements and join him in his private library."

  Raziel moved away, wiping her eyes, and carefully rolling up the parchment. "Here," she said, handing it to Eradon. "You should keep this, for I would surely lose it. An hour you say? I must begin to get ready! You know how long it takes for me to get ready. Have you seen my charcoals? Wait, was I not using them a moment ago? Oh dear, forgive my carelessness."

  Eradon watched as his sister animatedly sprung around the room, hunting out her equipment. He sighed softly, wondering what awaited them at the feast. He felt worried that the Rivendell Elves would ostracise and taunt Raziel in front of the new arrivals. Even worse – if their family would treat her with the disrespect and disapproval as was normal. He feared for his sister. 

  He just hoped that the Valar were shining in her favour. 

  Lord Elrond Half-Elven smiled and gestured the three Lórien Elves to the seats in front of his writing desk. It seemed terribly formal, but he still had many invitations to write out, and he already knew Lady Galadriel would understand as much. 

"_Vedui_', Lord Elrond greetings," Lord Celeborn greeted, with a slight bow. "Too long has it been since we have had the chance to speak as friends."

"_Mae Govannen_, my Lord and Lady well met," Elrond nodded. Then he glanced at the third Elf. "_Aaye, March Warden hail. Welcome back to Rivendell."_

  Haldir bowed his head in greeting. "_Nae__ saian luume', heruamin it has been too long, my lord." _

"Please, sit," Elrond smiled. The Lord and Lady both sat, but Haldir chose to remain standing behind their seats, with a polite inclination of his head. It made the Rivendell Elf smile inwardly – some things never changed. "Forgive me for my divided attentions," Elrond said apologetically, gesturing to the stack of parchment on his desk, "but I have many invitations to write."

"Do not concern yourself, Lord Elrond," Galadriel replied with a smile. "We understand that you are busy."

"Indeed – it would appear that Elladan and Elrohir escaped before I could enlist their help. They always do that; it makes my patience grow thin." He sighed, signing another invitation. "I wish for this feast – and the celebration of Arwen's birthday – to be at least half perfect. No interruptions, such as all the last ones held."

  Celeborn smiled. "Aye, there were certainly some problems, were there not?"

"I do not plan on them happening again, I assure you," Elrond nodded, and his mind flicked back to the last few celebrations held. His dear friend Raziel Silverwing had been excluded from them all, due to her parents finding loopholes in the various invitations and leaving her behind. It angered him, but this time, he had signed the invitation directly, and made certain that it was Eradon who received it.

"Something bothers you, my Lord," Galadriel observed.

  Elrond forced a smile to his face. "I am merely worried about a friend, _arwenamin my lady. I shall be meeting with her half an hour. I hope she shall be attending the festivities."_

"Why would she not?" Lord Celeborn asked.

  Elrond sighed, and put his quill down. "Near enough every time a festival or banquet is held, her parents find a way to leave her behind. I feel I may have found a way to avoid this, but I fear that her parents may go to extremes to keep her away."

  Haldir raised an eyebrow. His mind flashed back to the rumours they had heard upon entering Rivendell.

"Why should they do such a thing?" Celeborn asked.

"They believe her to be a degenerate – or even simple," Lord Elrond said, rubbing his temples. "They are so blinded by the apparent perfection of their other children – particularly another daughter – that all she is to them is a burden."

"Who is this child?" Galadriel asked.

"Raziel Silverwing, daughter of Erabur and Bellawen Silverwing," Elrond replied.

  The Silverwings were well known for their apparent generosity. Erabur had been a distinguished warrior, whilst Bellawen had woven the most wonderful tapestries and communed with nature. It came as a surprise – at least to Haldir and slightly to Celeborn, that such distinguished Elves could treat a daughter with such discourtesy. 

"I remember Raziel," Galadriel murmured. "When she was a mere babe. A fine head of hair she had. And she had her father's eyes."

"She is a perfectly likeable young Elf," Elrond said, a hint of frustration in his voice. "However, many despise that she is childlike in her innocence. They say she never matured past fifty years in her mind – yet she is 1,994. They find her spoiled and tainted. It angers me how they could be so blind. She is only childlike because she was never allowed to have a childhood."

"You meet with Raziel often?" Celeborn asked.

"Fairly often," Elrond replied. "As you can see, she is quite gifted in the artistic area." He gestured to the many portraits upon the wall, all signed in Elvish with the same initials – R.S. "And she enjoys my stories. I find her pout quite hard to refuse when she desires to hear my tales. She has heard much of the Lórien Elves – I suspect she would greatly wish to meet you."

"It would be interesting to meet the young babe now that she has grown," Galadriel smiled. "But come now – before she arrives. We are to discuss the festivities…"

  Raziel hummed to herself as she neared Lord Elrond's private library, her bag bouncing against her hip as she walked with a lilt along the pathway, attempting to ignore the scornful or amused looks she was receiving from the other Elves. She was there for Lord Elrond, not them.

  His house was something she had always found magnificent – which made her heart soar with joy all the more when she saw it. Once inside, she and Elrond would normally sit in his private library, and he would tell her tales whilst she would either sit and listen or draw him using her charcoals. It was probably the most fun she ever had, and she treasured the memories in her heart with vigilance. 

  She came to the door, and knocked upon it. An Elf opened it, and let her in with a slight scowl. All the same, she smiled and murmured a greeting, before moving through the corridors on the path she knew well, her hair billowing behind her like a cloak, the dark contrasting with the autumn red/brown of her gown – which differed to the normal colours the Elves wore as their attire, but she found it appealing, and so she wore it. When she at last came to Lord Elrond's door, she knocked on it gently, and when she heard is invitation, opened it slowly, stepping inside. 

  She froze, her eyes wide. Lord Elrond was sitting behind his desk, smiling warmly, but also in his company were three pale, golden-haired Elves, all looking at her with varying degrees of curiosity, kindness and scrutiny. 

  One of them was obviously Lord Celeborn, with his long, pale hair and white robes with a silver cloak. He was smiling warmly.

  The she-Elf was who Raziel guessed to be Lady Galadriel. This was not only because of the woman's beauty, but also her sense of power and the slight glow she gave off. Her wavy golden hair fell down the back of her white cloak, her ethereal blue eyes twinkled, and a slight smile tugged at her lips. 

  Raziel almost flinched when her voice spoke in her mind. _Do not be afraid, young Silverwing. We mean no harm to you._

  The last Elf was not one that Raziel could place as anything but perhaps a sort of guard or warden. He was tall, with a startlingly straight posture. His silky, pale hair fell down his pack in straight strands of gold. His blue eyes were emotionless, almost icy, as was his face, as he regarded her. He had a high, regal forehead and a straight nose. His build seemed more burly than most Elves, proving that he was obviously of some important, hardworking status. He wore Elvish hunting clothes of a tunic, leggings, gauntlets, tall boots, and cloak. Upon first glance, Raziel's first impression was of haughtiness and arrogance – but also power, intimidating control and strength, and perfection.

  Yes, he seemed perfect. But she did not blush like she normally might – she was too shocked for that. She just stood there, staring wide-eyed at all the Elves in the room, clutching her bag up to her ribs with one hand, the other still on the door.

"Raziel," Lord Elrond greeted with an inclination of his head, a small smile on his face. "Allow me to introduce to you Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel of Lothlórien, and their March Warden, Haldir." 

A/N: Reviews welcomed *hint hint* lol 


End file.
